


Learned Normalcy

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Disabled Sam, Gen, Hunt Gone Wrong, Injured Dean, Injured Sam, Injury Recovery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retirement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After a hunt gone bad, Sam is left with severe injuries leaving him unable to ever hunt again. Sam convinces Dean into retirement and they have to learn to live the 'apple pie life' with real jobs and social lives.





	1. The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural fic ever and the first thing I've written in a while. Feel free to bug me about updates because I become demotivated disturbingly quickly. Any criticism is gladly received. Welp, this is it.

Dean didn’t guess that it would end the way it did. It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Find the bad thing and then kill it. He and Sam had done a lot harder and came away a lot better. But they had underestimated just how mad the spirit was and the fact that the spirit’s wife was practically a hoarder didn’t make matters easier when they had to find the object it was attached to. 

Sam was more than capable of holding the spirit off while Dean dug through the old bat’s attic to find something, anything that looked even remotely like something the spirit could have been attached to. But Sam was a little too late with the iron poker and was sent flying into the wall, his head hitting it with a stomach-twisting crack. Dean, in his panic, dropped his lighter on the floor and everything went up in flames, in the excitement they had tipped over the bottle of lighter fluid on the floor and the abundance of old, dry antiques didn’t help matters.

Dean barely remembers getting out of the house, he vaguely remembers charging through the flames and grabbing the old lady from the salt circle they had made for her, the ceiling caving in and then all he knew was pain. 

He wakes up screaming; angry red, blistered skin all up and down his arms and neck still burning like he’s running through the flames all over again. His screaming brings several nurses and then he’s surrounded by them, taking his blood pressure, doing who knows what and then injecting his IV bag with some fluid. About thirty minutes later he’s out cold.

When he wakes up again, his body is numb and suddenly everything is a fucking joke. There’s a disposable cup of water for him beside the bed, he tries to grab it, but it slips through his hands and spills on the floor. His mind is too fuzzy to even comprehend what happened. He isn’t sure how long it is before a doctor comes into the room.

“Mr. Winchester is it?” the man said.

Dean tried to say yes, but he couldn’t get his mouth to obey his mind so he nodded instead.

“I’m Dr. Cartwright, do you remember what happened?”

Dean nodded again, “Fire,” he rasped. Then he remembered Sam. The crash of shattering glass and the sick crack his head had made as it hit the wall. “My brother! Is he okay?”

“Sam, right?” Dean nodded eagerly. “He’s in surgery. His pelvis was fractured in several different places, he was found caught in the middle of the rubble of the burning house. Thankfully one of Mrs. Fletcher’s neighbors got him out and called 911.”

“He’ll be okay right?” Dean demanded.

“I’m afraid we won’t know that until after your brother gets out of surgery, Mr. Winchester.”

“You have to know something!” Dean roared. He moved to get out of bed and heat shot through his arm, a shudder passed through his body and he groaned. He looked down at his hand to find the flesh beet red run through with blisters and other parts wrapped in bandages. Was that really him? All up and down his arms were burns and bandages as he discovered the damage that had really been done to him, a faint throb began to shoot up from his fingers all the way up his arms to his neck.

“Get me a mirror!” Dean said, voice shaking.

“Mr. Winchester, I’m not sure-”

“Get me one right now!” He positively roared. So Dean was helped into a wheelchair and taken into the bathroom to look in the mirror. Dean almost regretted having asked to see himself. But not quite, he deserved to know how bad it was. The hospital gown didn’t hide much. All of both of his arms were covered in burns and wrapped in bandages all the was up to his neck and past his chin. There were dark purple bruises all around his face and there would’ve been bruises on his arms and neck had the burns not destroyed the skin where they would’ve shown.

Dean allowed himself to be helped back into bed and not a word came out of him when the nurse came back to give him more medication via IV. First, he drowsed and then respite.

Next, he woke there was a nurse checking his vitals. The nurse looked over and seemed surprised at his open eyes. “Good afternoon Mr. Winchester. Are you ready for a bandage change?” Dean wasn’t so sure he was ready to see what was under the wrapped areas, but he didn’t think he had much of a choice, so he nodded anyway. “All right,” the nurse said briskly. She slowly peeled away the bandage on his thumb, the rest of the wrapping on his hand falling away, revealing a mesh of something webbed over it, she continued up his arm, patches of the same strange mesh covering various parts of his arms all the way up to his neck.

Before she began wrapping him up again, he asked. “What’s that webbing on my arms?”

“They didn’t tell you?” She looked puzzled. “They’re skin grafts. Some of your burns needed them, so we took some of the skin from the back of your thighs. You’re going to have to turn over. I need to change the dressing on those too.”

Dean, in too much shock to say much of anything, obeyed, allowing her to turn him over and letting her change the bandages on his thighs. 

“Is Sam- my brother- is he okay?”

The girl looked concerned for a moment, “Sweetie, he got out of surgery about 6 hours ago. He may still be sleeping. I think it went well, though. You’ll have to ask the doctor about any specifics." 

Dean didn’t know how long he waited for news about Sam. It seemed like days, though he never slept. His arms hurt almost as bad as hell, and his head throbbed like the worst of his many, many hangovers. 

He finally got news when Dr. Cartwright came back to check in on him. He was allowed to see his brother for the first time since the fire. 

He gazed upon his sleeping brother; his pelvis was broken in two places and he had third-degree burns on major portions of his legs causing severe nerve damage. With intense physical therapy, he would be able to walk again, but he would never be able to hunt again. Not if Cas didn’t fix him.

Dean allowed himself to be taken back to his room, but he made the doctor promise to allow Dean to see Sam the minute he woke up. Once the nurse was gone Dean closed his eye and began to mumble, “Cas, I know you’re listening. I- no Sammy really needs you. He’s hurt, he’s hurt bad and he needs you to fix him. Please.”

Not a minute later Castiel was walking into his room. “Dean,” he said.

“Cas, there was a fire. Sammy was-” Realization washes over him. “I- I left him.” He clenches his hand into a fist. “I left him in there, Cas! It’s all my fault! Sam could have died!” 

“Dean, it’s not your fault. I know you. You wouldn’t leave Sam in there on purpose.”

“I still left him.”

Cas took a seat by Dean’s bed, “Tell me what happened, Dean.”

Dean took a deep breath, “It was a normal hunt. Just some vengeful spirit. We were in the dead guy’s wife’s attic looking for something that could have tied him to earth. She was a fucking hoarder,” Dean let out a humorless laugh. “We had been looking for ages. Sam was fighting him off, but the ghost got a hit in and Sam hit his head. I accidently dropped my lighter and we must’ve spilled lighter fluid or something. The whole house went up in flames. I don’t really know what happened next, I must’ve ran through a wall of fire to get out. I don’t know why I left Sam. I shouldn’t have left him. Family doesn’t just do that.” Dean gave Cas a despondent look. “I left him to die.”

Cas shook his head, “But he didn’t die.”

“That doesn’t matter. He could have and it would have been my fault. I’m not suddenly absolved of all blame because he survived!” Dean screamed. The room was deathly quiet after that, his words still echoing in their ears.

A different nurse stepped in the doorway, “Mr. Winchester, your brother is awake. I’m here to take you to see him.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at her, “Is he allowed to come?” Motioning with his head back at Cas.

She nodded, “The doctor says he’s stable enough, but don’t overwhelm him.”

So Dean and Cas were led by the nurse to Sam’s room. He was propped up with the help of several pillows and the bed, but his eyes were glassy and unfocused. He lit up with a bright smile at Cas and Dean. “Dean. Cas.” His voice was weary and weak.

Cas took the seat beside Sam’s bed and Dean remained in the wheelchair that the nurse insisted on strapping him into. “Dean brought me here to help. I know what happened, but what happened to you?”

“I broke my pelvis in two places, I have a mild concussion, and there are third-degree burns on my legs that have caused severe nerve damage. The doctor already told me what this means.”

“Then you know why Cas is here,” Dean said flatly.

Sam nodded, “I know.” He glanced down for a moment. “And there’s something I need to say, and I want you to hear me out, Dean. Hear all that I have to say.”

Dean swallowed and nodded, “Anything.”

“I don’t want Cas’s help-”

“What do you mean you don’t want his help?” Dean roared.

“Settle down, Dean. You and I both know that once you’re in the life you’re in it for good, but look at us. How are we going to hunt? Sure Bobby still did a lot when he was paralyzed, but we’re not him. Bobby was something neither of us could ever be. Maybe this is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. Maybe we don’t have to do this anymore. We could just be done!”

Castiel looked at Dean, “Maybe he’s right, Dean. Maybe it’s God’s will for you to quit hunting. You’ve done quite a lot over the years. Maybe it’s time for you to retire.”

“Retire?” Dean yelled. “We don’t retire. People like us don’t retire. We die sad or we die bloody and we most certainly die early. None of that dying surrounded by loved ones crap!” Dean glared at Cas, breathing heavily. “Cas, you have to fix him! He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”

Sam opened his mouth to speak but Castiel hushed him, “I will not heal Sam if that is what he wishes.” And then, with a flutter of wings, he’s gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam and Dean are left in silence. “Why didn’t you ask Cas to heal you?” Sam asked.

“I didn’t think about that, I was worried about you, Sam. And now you’ve gone and done this.” Dean shook his head. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I just think-”

“No! You don’t think!” Dean shouted. “That’s the problem with you. You never think about how what you do affects anyone else!”

“I don’t want to die that way, Dean,” Sam shouted over his brother. “I don’t want to die young! I don’t want it to be sad when I die. I want people to think that I had a long life well spent. I don’t even want a hunter’s funeral! I don’t want to die a hunter! And I know you don’t either. Not really.”

“I need to leave,” Dean mumbled, wheeling himself out of the room. 

Dean was allowed out of the hospital a few days later. He rented a motel room, though he didn’t stay in it very much. He barely slept in it. Instead choosing to sit by Sam’s bedside, though neither of them talked. Sam’s decision was still much too fresh.

As the days went on the idea that he and Sam would be retiring really sunk in. Dean figured once Sam got out they’d head back to the bunker, but then what? Sam was right when he said that they couldn’t be Bobby and Dean didn’t want to live there for the rest of his life, constantly being reminded of the life that they had been forced to leave.

Once Sam got out they hopped in the car and Dean drove straight home, only stopping once despite the fact that Kansas was two states over. When they got back to the bunker Dean felt none of the relief he thought he would feel, he just wanted to cry. He didn’t, of course, he was stronger- better than that, but the feeling was still there. The weight of everything that had happened was heavy on Dean’s back. How were they going to pay for physical therapy for Sam? What about the bunker? What about hunting?

As the days went by Dean’s burns healed over and the pain lessened, but he would be left with ugly scarring all over his arms and neck.

Dean sat down in the War room across from Sam who was reading a dusty book, presumably from one of the bunker’s many shelves.

“What’s up with the book? I thought you said that you wanted to retire.”

Sam held the book so that Dean could make out the cover. War and Peace. “Awesome,” Dean said flatly.

The sat in silence, Dean’s stare burrowing into Sam’s forehead. “Is there something you need?” Sam asked. His voice dripped with exasperation.

“How are we going to pay for your physical therapy?” Dean asked. “The doctor made it quite clear that you wouldn’t be able to walk without support if you didn’t have physical therapy.”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” Sam muttered. “Later, okay?”

“No,” said Dean. “Not okay. This is important. You’re not going to suddenly be just fine. Just remember that this was your choice. We need to know our plan of action. We can’t just stay here and be hermits for the rest of our lives. What’s the use of retiring if we can’t be normal?”

“The cars,” Sam mumbled. “In the garage. They’re in mint condition. We could probably get quite a bit for them.”

Dean nodded, but frowned, “I don’t like it."

“Dean, they’re just cars.”

“I know, but we’re not selling Dorothy’s motorcycle, I promised we’d keep it for her.”

Sam nodded, “Of course, and you’re right.”

“About what?”

“We can’t stay here, Dean. It’s sucking the life out of us. We need to go somewhere else.” Sam said.

“Where? Living space is expensive. And so is physical therapy.”

“I think I may have found a solution, well at least part of one,” Sam said, opening his laptop. He typed something in and turned it around to show Dean.

“These are pictures of old houses, Sam. Houses are even more expensive than apartments.” Dean shook his head. “We can’t afford a house.”  
“Yes, we can, Dean. Some of these houses are going for as low as 30,000 dollars.”

“Then they’re pieces of shit, Sam. We don’t want a shitty house.”

 

“Exactly, Dean. No one wants a shitty house! A lot of these are salvageable, and you and I’ve squatted in worse. We can fix it up!” Sam grinned.

“I can fix it up,” Dean said. “You’re an invalid.”

“I can still help!” Sam protested.

“Not like you used to, but I like this idea. Let’s do it,” Dean’s eyes gleamed. Finally, he had a goal, he had something to work towards.

Over the next few days, Dean got the cars ready and had Sam list them on the internet. They were gone within the week. Dean ended up with over 100,000 dollars. More than enough for some of the houses for foreclosure. While Dean was taking care of the cars, Sam was in charge of finding a house. He scoured the internet until he found one that just called to him. It was a two story going for only 34,000 dollars because of its dire need for serious repairs. It was located near a fairly small town of about 800 people but not so near that they had very many close neighbors. The house was surrounded by forest and according to Dean it could be, “Pretty damn good.”

Sam was the one who arranged everything with the realtor and set up a meeting where they could see the house. They drove for about 7 hours to get to their destination in time. 

When they arrived at the house, another car was already in the drive. A businesslike woman standing next to it. Dean climbed out of the car, going to the trunk for Sam’s wheelchair. He helped Sam into it and they went to greet the woman.

She gave a tight-lipped smile and held out her hand, “I’m Audrey Lipson, your realtor.”

Dean shook her hand giving an equally forced smile, “Dean, and this is my brother, Sam.” Sam nodded to her. It was cold out and Dean’s jacket and gloves covered the majority of his burns.

“Well, let’s get to it,” she said. “As you can see and as you probably already knew, the house is going to need a lot of work, but once it’s done it has the potential to be great!” She led them up the steps, pursing her lips as Dean struggled to help Sam up the front step onto the porch. Once everyone was on the porch the realtor pressed on. 

“All of the floors are hardwood and all are still in great condition. The lighting is faulty, so many of the lights in the rooms don’t work, but that can be fixed. The property has its own well, so the water works, but it is recommended that you test it annually.” She took them all around the house and showed Dean the upstairs while Sam took a look downstairs.  
As they headed upstairs the realtor said, “Wouldn’t you want a place a little more wheelchair friendly?”

“He’ll only need the wheelchair for a couple more weeks now, he broke his pelvis. It’s only temporary.” The realtor nodded and continued to show him the rest of the house. 

A week later they were the proud owners of a new (sort of) house.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam and Dean could fit all that they owned in the Impala. They took nothing from the bunker that had already been there, so they were in need of quite a lot of furniture. They had already ordered mattresses, bed frames, and a refrigerator but there was much more work to be done. 

Because there was so much to do before they could even go to bed they had decided to leave early enough to get there by 8 in the morning. Dean had recruited Cas to help them clean stuff up and move stuff around. Cas was already there when they got there. The stuff had been delivered and waited in boxes on their front porch.

When they got out of the car Cas came to greet them. “Dean. Sam.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said.

“Why do want me here? I’m an angel, I have no knowledge of houses."

“It’s more for the extra set of hands than anything,” Sam said. “I’m not going to be too much help as I am.”

Cas nodded but still looks slightly puzzled, “I suppose I will have to ‘wing it’, as you say.”

Dean snickered, “You’ll be fine, Cas.”

Several hours later and they had moved the fridge into the house and installed it. The bedframes were moved to the bedrooms and everything had been cleaned up. After the walls had been washed they looked a lot better, but they still really needed a fresh coat of paint. The entire roof needed reshingling, but that was going to have to wait. All of the faucets needed replacing and the light installations needed replacement. 

Despite all of the issues, Dean loved the house. Maybe it was because it was his, but there was something about the rooms that seemed saturated with memories. Memories like the ones he had as a child with his parents, before the fire. They weren’t his, of course, but Dean just knew that this house had been a home once, and it was going to be a home again.

The physical demands of moving into the house were not easy on Dean. His burns hurt, where his skin was once elastic and supple it was thickened with scar tissue. Every time skin stretched over muscle as he lifted boxes and installed faucets it hurt. He put on a brave face, only grimaced the first time, but it was just so painful.

Finally, they were done. They may have only had beds and their duffels full of their clothes and other belongings, but the other stuff didn’t matter. They could easily get anything else, the hard part was over. They finally had a place to call home.

Over the next few days, Dean got all of the lights working with relative ease. Wifi was installed, but there was something missing. A big something. Furniture.

They may have had beds, but they had no couch, no tv, no dressers, not even a kitchen table. So they went shopping.

Finding a town large enough to even have a furniture store was a challenge within itself, but when they got there they realized how fucking expensive furniture was.

“Dean,” Sam said pointing at a low table of dark wood. “This looks good.” He glanced at the price tag and grimaced. “Nevermind.”

“Lemme see that,” Dean peered at the tag, his face going white. “600 dollars? For a piece of wood on legs?”

“We could probably find something cheaper at a used furniture store, I think I saw one right when we got into town.”

There was much more luck at the used furniture store. They actually found a kitchen table with four matching chairs, an easy chair that Dean took a liking to and even found a couch that wasn’t disgusting! But there was one problem. The Impala was absolutely never going to be able to hold any of it.

Dean talked to the manager and decided that they could hold the furniture until they found a way to get it home.

There was a basket waiting for them when they got home. Tucked inside was a note written in small, neat cursive. It looked like the handwriting of an old woman. Dean read the letter out loud "I know that there isn’t much of a neighborhood to welcome you to, but I baked some sugar cookies and an apple crisp for you. Come by soon, and if you need anything I’ll see what I can do. I live at the house with the evergreens out front. Your neighbor, Hazel Bell" Dean looked inside the basket, a plate of saran wrapped cookies placed neatly on top of a pan that presumably held the aforementioned crisp. “Awesome,” Dean breathed. 

“Do you think-” Sam started.

“No,” Dean said strongly. “We are not asking some sweet old lady for help with moving heavy furniture. We can get Cas to do it.”

“Dean, Cas can’t just mojo the furniture into our house. Wouldn’t that look a little suspicious? And there’s no guarantee that she’s an old lady. ”

“She baked us cookies, Sam! Of course she’s an old lady. But I suppose we could ask her for help, she might have a pickup we can use of something,” he conceded. 

“Well, it’s too late now. We can swing by tomorrow afternoon.”

The next morning was spent cleaning up the yard. Sam tried to help, but the ground was too bumpy and he was still basically immobile. So he was limited to belittling Dean as he raked and stuffed leaves into yard waste bags.

“Is that the best you can do?” Sam asked mockingly. “Rake harder!”

Even though the skin on his arms hurt, he pushed himself on. Laughing at Sam’s joking belittlement of his older brother.

“I don’t see you doing anything, cripple,” Dean teased.

Sam barked a short laugh, “I’m too good for yard work. Now, put your back into it!”

The rest of the morning was spent that way, in an easy sort of groove. The brothers breathing easier around each other than they ever had since Sam left for college.

When the sun was high in the sky they decided to drive down to Ms. Bell’s as they had begun to call her. Her house was a few minutes up the road, just slightly closer to the village than theirs. Dean turned in the gravel drive, driving past the evergreens shielding the house from passing traffic.

The house was a clean brick affair with a large front porch and a well kept front lawn with bushes and short purple flowers lining the front walk. There was a new looking white pickup parked in front of a shed. Dean pulled up beside it. 

Dean pushed Sam up the front walk, relieved that there was only one step to get up to the porch. The porch looked well used, a swing hanging to the right and two wicker chair sitting on either side of a small table.

Dean let out a small breath and rang the doorbell, quickly shoving his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want to scare some poor woman with his ugly scars.

The door swung open, a tall, curvy twenty-something with freckles and copper hair answered the door. “May I help you?” she asked politely.

“We’re looking for a Ms. Bell,” said Sam. “We’re her new neighbors.”

The girl laughed, “Ms. Bell, now that’s funny! I’ve never been Ms. Bell in my life. Call me Hazel.”

Dean gaped, this girl was Ms. Bell- no- Hazel? She was the one with the grandmotherly handwriting, the one who baked cookies for them? No way!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I wanted it to, but it's done now. I'm kind of writing this as I go, so any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

“Well come on in,” Hazel said. Dean pushed Sam over the threshold and into the warm house. There was no entryway; the front door just opened straight into the living room which was large and stuffed to the brim with shelves and overstuffed armchairs. In the corner, there was a mahogany upright piano with sheet music on the stand. “So you are-”

“Oh, names. I’m Sam and he’s Dean,” Sam said motioning to his older brother.

“Nice place you got here,” Dean said, hands thrust into pockets.

“Isn’t it?” Hazel said proudly. “I inherited it from my grandma.” They stood for a moment and then Hazel hit her head. “I’m an idiot! Sit down, make yourself comfortable. D’you want tea? Water? I can put some coffee on if you like.”

Dean started to say , “No we’re g-”

“I’d like some tea, please,” Sam said.

“Is black okay?” she asked.

Sam nodded and she ran off, they heard the sound of water running and a clang. Hazel came back, “It’ll be a little while, I forgot I didn’t have any hot water. Oh- did you get my basket? I wasn’t sure if you liked chocolate so I made sugar cookies instead. And I was a little short on time otherwise I would’ve made a pie.”

Saliva flooded Dean’s mouth at the mention of pie, “Pie?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said sheepishly. “My pie crusts are considered particularly good. Courtesy of my grandma. Did you like the deserts?”

“We haven’t tried them yet,” Sam said. “Unless Dean got into them in the middle of the night.”

Hazel laughed, “I can name a few people I know who do that.” Her face got a bit more serious, “So was there any particular reason you visited? I know you guys just moved in so if there’s anything I can do to help out just let me know.”

“Well actually, there’s one thing,” Sam said. “We’re buying furniture, but it won’t fit in the car. Could we maybe borrow your truck?”

“Sure!” Hazel said. “How much furniture do you need to move? I can help you get it in your house too if you want.” 

Dean started to protest but Sam shut him up, “A kitchen table with four chairs, a loveseat, and an easy chair.”

“That’ll be more than one trip…” Hazel tapped her chin. “I have someone who has another pickup. We can use hers too. When’s the best time to do it?”

“The store’s holding it for us for about a week, but it’d be better if we could do it tomorrow or the day after.”

“Okay,” Hazel said. And the tea kettle started to whistle. “Wait one sec,” she said, sprinting into the other room.

“Well she’s high energy,” Dean remarked.

“I’m surprised you haven’t started flirting yet,” said Sam.

Dean looked shocked, “She’s just a kid, Sammy. That’s creepy.”

“I thought creepy was your middle name.”

As Hazel came back into the room Dean glared at his brother as she handed the steaming cup of tea to him. “No sugar?” she asked. Sam nodded.

“Is the day after tomorrow okay? I have something to do tomorrow.”

Sam nodded, “That’s fine. Are you going to be driving?”

“Yeah, I guess. You could probably use the extra set of hands anyway.” Hazel smiled at Sam. “Are you in that chair for an injury?” she asked.

Dean was ready to defend his brother, but Sam just took a drink of his tea and nodded, “A broken pelvis.”

Hazel winced, “Ouch, not fun. I’ve known a few people who have had that happen.”

Dean was surprised when she didn’t probe further. He cleared his throat, “So what do you do for a living?”

“Oh, this and that. I’m a bit of an herbalist so I sell stuff for skin care and things like that. I’m fairly self-sufficient, so I don’t really need much. I actually hunt or butcher a lot of what I eat myself. And I’m a dab hand at baking so I sell pie and cakes at farmers markets and stuff too.” Hazel looked at her lap. “I’m kind of just carrying on as my grandma did before she died.”

Dean felt awkward making the conversation turn sad like that, “I’m sor-”

Hazel grinned, “It’s fine. She was old and tired. She just couldn’t keep living anymore. Nobody lives forever.”

Dean nodded, he knew that all too well. A minute later her cell phone rang and she checked who it was. Quickly, she stood up “Welp. It seems that something has come up.” And within seconds they were ushered out the door and onto the porch. “Come by around one on Wednesday!” she called, and the door was promptly shut.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, “That was strange,” Sam said.

“No kidding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than I would've liked it to be, but I felt like it ended fairly naturally here. Feel free to bug me about updates, and any constructive criticism is duly appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

Wednesday, it seemed, took little time in coming. It had arrived before Dean even knew it. Maybe it was because he was busy working on the house. He had fallen into almost a stupor until Sam’s voice shook him out of it.

 

“Dean, don’t you think we should get going?”

 

He glanced at the clock, it was 1:19. “I suppose so.”

 

Only minutes later they arrived at Hazel’s house. There was a beat up red truck sitting in Hazel’s driveway and a disgruntled looking young woman perched on the hood. Dean parked the Impala and helped Sam out, noticing Hazel coming out the door.

 

Upon noticing Sam and Dean, Hazel smiled and waved, jogging up to them. “Hi guys, that’s Lily over there,” she said motioning her head to the woman who had sprung off of the hood of the truck and was headed toward them. She was openly glaring at Dean and her movements were predatory and fluid, like a cat’s.

 

“Lily Nakamura,” she said, grudgingly offering a hand to Sam and then Dean. When he took it, her grip was too strong to be friendly. “I’ll be helping you guys haul the furniture.”

 

“Dean Winchester,” he said.

 

“I’m Sam,” his brother said.

 

Lily nodded absently and turned to Hazel, “So you’ll take one of ‘em, right?”

 

Hazel nodded, “I’ll take Sam, I’m not sure he’s quite ready for your driving yet.”

 

Lily huffed and shot a glare at Dean, he couldn’t figure out why she didn’t like him. “You guys go ahead,” Lily said to Hazel and Sam. “I’ll catch up later.”

 

Hazel just grinned, “Come on, Sam. Lily'll probably end up beating us there anyway, she drives like a maniac.”

 

Lily huffed again, “No I don’t, you just drive like an old woman.”

 

Hazel rolled her eyes, “Good luck, Dean, you’ll need it. And don’t you worry about Sam here, I can help him out.”

 

And before Dean could even say another word Hazel had bundled Sam off and into her truck and they pulled out of the driveway. “Let’s get going,” Lily said, jerking her head towards her beat up chevy. “We need to catch up with Hazel.”

 

The truck’s doors squeaked when they opened, and the seats were cracked and sun bleached, the inside smelled of dust and grease from fast food. Lily climbed in with a strange grace, brushing fast food wrappers from the passenger’s seat onto the floor. A duffel bag was stuffed behind the seat and tucked into the sun visor is a faded picture of a woman with red hair and a wide smile accompanied by two children with black hair, they were at a park of some sort.

 

Dean kind of smirked when he got in, his baby was in much better condition. “Nice truck,” he tried to say it genuinely, but it came out almost sarcastically.

 

Lily looked over at him, “I’ve had this truck since I was sixteen, it’s serviced me then and it still does what it’s meant to do now; just ‘cause it’s not flashy like that black hunk of metal you’ve got there doesn’t mean that it’s not as good.”

 

Dean huffed a laugh, this chick knew nothing about cars. “Sweetheart-” He was cut off as she revved the engine and shot backward and then swerved and shot forward. Right before she tore into the road the truck went to a grinding halt, flinging Dean forward, only stopped by his seatbelt.

 

“Don’t call me sweetheart, buddy,” she growled as she pulled out into the road. The car ride is tense, and Lily drove like speed limits didn’t apply to her. For a few moments, Dean was actually scared for his life.

 

As she was driving down a stretch of highway that he was sure had a speed limit of 55 though she was pushing 80; Dean had had enough, “Could you please slow down.”

 

Snickering, Lily slowed down, “So the tough guy’s scared of something…”

 

Dean decided not to please her with an answer, he only huffed a sigh and looked out the window as she took the exit to Jacksonville, the nearest decently sized town. It was only a few minutes later that they pulled into the parking lot of the used furniture shop where their furniture was waiting.

 

Lily parked in the space beside Hazel’s truck, Hazel and Sam were both outside, talking and laughing about something. Lily slid out of her seat, her boots landing on the asphalt with a clunk. Dean followed suit, a twinge of pain shooting across his skin where it stretched across scar tissue.

 

When Dean walked around the truck, Hazel, Lily, and Sam were all laughing. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them, “Well, let’s get started, it’s fucking freezing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how late and short it is. The holidays are always super busy for me, so you can expect Christmas to be slow on the updates too. Hazel and Lily are obviously my own original characters, but they were developed with their own story in mind and I thought that they would be a good fit for the Supernatural universe. I don't expect them ending up as super major characters because this is really going to be centered around Sam and Dean learning how to be normal people in society. I'll keep them out of it more if you guys don't like them, so if you have any negative opinions about anything please share. Also, anyone else in Yuri!!! On Ice hell right now? Episode 9 amirite?


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